


November

by miuyi (rainiest)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-04 04:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18336263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainiest/pseuds/miuyi
Summary: A handful of Seventeen members enlist, Minghao tries to re-calibrate.





	November

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [kpopolymfics2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/kpopolymfics2019) collection. 



> Thank you to the team and the mods for being absolute gems.  
>  
> 
> **Prompt:**  
>  **Triple H – "Retro Future"**  
> [lyrics](https://popgasa.com/2018/07/18/triple-h-retro-future/) **|** [video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oT8eXpXymmA) **|** [supplementary](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/6c/9a/84/6c9a84d065564759f39f36af15ea9bc3.jpg) \- [prompts](https://www.flickr.com/photos/squirrelbeat/7868338914/)
> 
> This fic was written for K-Pop Olymfics 2019 as part of Team Canon/AR/Future 2. Olymfics is a challenge in which participants write fics based on prompt sets and compete against other teams of writers, organized by genre. Competition winners are chosen by the readers, so please rate this fic using [this survey](https://forms.gle/Jb8PcN8Dg97oz1kYA)!

The first thing Minghao says when Junhui walks out of the bathroom in full costume is, “What the hell?” 

The second is, “Absolutely not.”

“Come on,” Junhui says. He’s wearing black from head to toe, even his hair is covered. Either he’s a nun or he’s No-Face and hasn’t put on his mask yet. He holds out a bundle of fabric to Minghao, who is sitting on the bed with his phone in his lap. “Come on, please.”

Which is how Minghao ends up walking down the Hong Kong streets on Halloween in a long black cape, Junhui’s black pants, and a Batman mask that covers half his face.

“It’ll be fine, no one’s going to recognise your chin,” Junhui said in the hotel room, as Minghao buttoned Junhui’s pants around his hips and they promptly slid back down to his knees. “How famous do you think you are?”

“Don’t forget to put on your mask before we go,” Minghao shot back, rummaging through his suitcase for a belt. “Otherwise you’ll just be Face.”

The closer they get to Lan Kwai Fong street the denser the crowd becomes. They’re each holding a can of Tsingtao beer; they’d stood in front of the alcoholic drinks section in the convenience store for a good thirty seconds before Junhui admitted, “Y’know, I don’t think I’ve actually ever bought any of these myself,” and Minghao just laughed so he didn’t have to say that he hadn’t either. The only thing worse than alcohol for an idol to be seen buying at the convenience store was condoms.

They stay out of the crush of the main road but Junhui seems content to lean against the concrete wall of a side street beside Minghao and watch people go by, pointing out the weirdest costumes to each other. His eyes, the only part of him Minghao can see, are bright like little black beetles.

“Why’d you even drag me out here?” Minghao asks. “Surely it wasn’t just to laugh at E.T. who was just a dude in an alien costume with a flashlight strapped to his finger.”

Junhui taps his nail against his can of beer, four times. The same number of beats to a bar, like his brain thinks in choreography even when he’s standing still. “Don’t you ever wonder?”

“No,” Minghao says, “not really.” 

Junhui laughs, the sound muffled into his plastic mask. “Right. Of course you don’t.”

 

 

 

The worst part wasn’t the actual day, it was the meeting six months before. Minghao had thought only Seungcheol would go, possibly Jeonghan if they felt like the others could hold down the fort without them. When Jihoon said, “I’m going too,” pointed at Soonyoung and said, “so is he,” it was like the bottom of the world had fallen out and Minghao was treading air.

It felt like an ambush. Even as Seungcheol explained, in that slow way that meant he was trying to control his emotions, that it made more sense for them to go all at once so they could come back all at once too, it had just felt he was twisting the knife in Minghao’s back.

When Seungcheol stopped talking Wonwoo finally looked up from the meeting room table, laced his hands in his lap and said, “Yeah, okay,” in this way that they all knew meant that he had decided to go too.

Joshua stared at his lap, probably feeling too guilty that his American citizenship exempted him to look anyone in the eye. Beside him, Mingyu had gone white. When Minghao’s eyes met Junhui’s across the table he was already staring straight back.

 _What now?_ he seemed to be pleading, as if Minghao had an answer for him. As if Minghao knew anything right now. _What are we gonna do?_

 

 

 

One can of beer becomes three, which becomes a tipsy conversation with a group of friends who are heading to a club a few blocks away to continue the party.

“Absolutely not,” Minghao tells Junhui for the second time that night, and this time Junhui doesn’t even have to beg to get him to change his mind. He just circles his fingers around Minghao’s wrist and says his name a certain way. Like when Junhui wakes up early and can’t go back to sleep, so he just watches the clock until it’s time for everyone else to be up too, and he leans over Minghao’s bed smelling of toothpaste and whispers his name in perfect tones like no one else does, at least no one in Seoul. It’s been so long that sometimes when he says his own name in his head it comes out in Junhui’s voice. It’s only once Minghao sits up in bed that he realises Junhui came in to wake him up first.

There’s a risky moment where Minghao thinks they’re going to check IDs and they’ll have to take off their masks, but one of the guys they’re with is the heir to a big tech company and has a table booking which gets them all waved through with barely a glance.

The club is packed. The raised VIP platforms around the edges aren’t so bad though. The bass vibrates through the seat cushions as Minghao slides around in the booth beside Junhui. He should be used to it, but music feels a different kind of loud when it’s booming out through a stadium and thousands of people are screaming it back.

“Why won’t you take your masks off?” asks the girl beside Junhui. She and the girl next to her are dressed as two of the three Powerpuff girls. They’re pretty, and in some alternate universe Minghao imagines that he might’ve asked one of them to come back to the hotel room the end of the night. Junhui would have to work something out, or maybe he’d hit it off with the second girl. It would get complicated if the third one was around here somewhere, though.

“We’re actually celebrities,” Junhui says, and Minghao chokes on his drink. “Kidding, we’re just really ugly. Where’s Bubbles?”

“We killed her,” says the other girl completely straight-faced as Minghao digs his fingers hard into Junhui’s thigh in warning. This is the girl he would’ve gone for. She’s funny in a reluctant kind of way that Minghao likes. “That’s why we’re covered in blood.”

“You’re out of your mind,” Minghao shouts into Junhui’s ear, when they squeeze out onto the periphery of the dancefloor. “Do you just say whatever comes into your head?”

This whole time Minghao’s pretty much been able to guess what Junhui’s face might look like under his mask. But when Junhui leans in and says, “No, not always,” Minghao tries to picture his expression and can’t. Like a fogged-up mirror that won’t clear no matter how many times he wipes his hand over it.

 

 

 

Even though the day five out of their thirteen enlisted wasn’t the worst, it was still pretty awful. For the sake of the photo op they all went on the same day, with their buzzed hair and their duffel bags, even though they were actually scheduled to enter service on different days. None of them were coming back to the dorm though. Most of them were spending their last few days at home with family, though Minghao’s sure part of it was that none of them wanted to live out of a suitcase in a dorm that had emptied out overnight. Like going back to your high school the day after graduation, just to hang out.

They’d finished promoting their final comeback as thirteen last month. It did well, better than the previous few before it. That was at least partially because they announced the enlistment news the same week the teasers dropped. It felt cheap but they were an eight-year old group and at the end of the day it was a numbers game. They had to use any advantage they could get.

Jihoon had been working himself to the bone for the past year writing a catalogue of songs they could release in various units while he was gone, though it would be weird to record them without him on the other side of the glass. The three of them–Minghao, Junhui and Chan–still weren’t sure how choreographing would go without Soonyoung. That was like someone asking whether they could learn to be left-handed if their right was cut off. A useless, purely hypothetical question, except this time the person asking was holding a cleaver.

Minghao didn’t even get a chance to go back to the dorm which he was probably glad about even though he’d never admit it. He had a flight to Hong Kong to catch three hours after they’d waved all of them off, the eight of them looking forward so they wouldn’t have to look at each other. Mingyu and Vernon had already started preparing for a duo release so Minghao wasn’t needed in Seoul for a while. Instead, he’d been cast as a panel member on a dancing competition. Filming would last the better part of six months. 

A few months later, Junhui was booked for a brand campaign that was shooting in Hong Kong. Even though they had separate schedules and their own managers now, the same person was still booking all their flights and accommodation. That person decided it was easier to throw Junhui into Minghao’s hotel room for a few days than book him his own one. The only thing they hadn’t done was remember to tell Minghao.

And that was the scariest part, scarier than watching Seungcheol throw out half the bottles of shampoo in the shower with his mouth set in a grim line. When Minghao opened the hotel room door late one night after a day of filming to Junhui standing there with a suitcase beside him, and his first thought wasn’t, _What are you doing here?_ like it should’ve been. It was, _Oh, thank god_.

 

 

 

The rich guy keeps buying rounds of drinks and Minghao and Junhui keep drinking them. Minghao is glad that he’s Batman now; Junhui has to turn around and pull his mask away from his face every time he wants to take a sip and it makes the whole table laugh at him.

“Bathroom,” Junhui says, leaning in close to Minghao, who nods and slides out of the seat. He keeps a fistful of Junhui’s robe so he doesn’t lose him as he winds through the crush of people. 

They wait in line for a stall because even though Junhui only has to pee he’s refusing to use a urinal. “My whole body is covered, even my face,” he complains, leaning against the tiled wall. “I can’t just whip my dick out! That’d be so fucking weird.”

He rips off his mask once they’re in the stall. “You go first,” he says to Minghao, leaning back against the closed door. His face is flushed and his hair is sticking to his forehead. They haven’t been drunk together in a while, Minghao almost forgot what he looks like. How his mouth goes loose but his eyes get sharp. “I need to breathe for a sec.” Minghao faces the toilet and undoes his belt. 

“You wanna swap masks after this?” Minghao asks.

“Maybe,” he says. There’s a thud, like Junhui’s losing his balance and has to catch himself with his palm on a wall. “One thing I really didn’t think about was the condensation. Every time I breathe the inside of this gets all fogged up. My face is like, covered in spit right now.”

Minghao finishes peeing and zips up his pants. “Never mind, we’re not swapping.”

Junhui hooks his chin over Minghao’s shoulder and peers into the toilet bowl. “You should drink more water.”

It’s close to sunrise when they finally stumble back into the hotel room. Junhui whips off his mask and robe. “I feel so fucking free. Like the girl in the movie after she has her makeover and turns sexy, except I was always sexy.”

Minghao laughs and strips off everything except his t-shirt and underwear. “You know, I thought about sexiling you,” he says, putting a bottle of water beside the bed. He takes the bin from under the desk and puts that there too. Even drunk he likes to be prepared. “When we were talking to those Powerpuff Girls. I was gonna kick you onto the streets for Blossom.”

The alcohol is wearing off Minghao now but Junhui is still buoyant. “I’d have kicked you out for Buttercup, so we’re cool.” And then, so easily it must’ve been on the tip of his tongue all night, “Why don’t you talk to us anymore?”

Minghao freezes. “I do talk to you,” he says slowly.

“You reply, sure, but you don’t really say anything,” Junhui says. “If we bring up anything more than surface-level stuff you dodge it. I get that you’re super busy and stuff, but you’ve been here for months. I miss you.”

Christ. “We are not sober enough for this conversation,” Minghao says.

Junhui nods solemnly. “You’re probably right,” he says, and then he surges forward, puts one hand on the side of Minghao’s face and kisses him. 

“Whoa,” Minghao says, pushing him away. “No, definitely not.”

“Okay,” Junhui says. In the early dawn the shadows find his jaw and the crescents under his eyes. His hair is messy but his eyes are thoughtful. He steps back and goes around to his side of the bed. “Is that because we’re drunk, or just because?”

“I don’t know,” says Minghao, still reeling. It freaks him out how Junhui can just _do_ that. Put himself on the line like that and take rejection like it’s nothing. “Does it matter?”

“Not right now,” Junhui says. “It might tomorrow.” He takes off his jeans and climbs into the bed. “Do you want to sleep or can I watch something really shit on TV?”

“Watch something shit,” Minghao says, crawling under the covers of his side. The fatigue hit him like a brick wall in the middle of the taxi ride home and he’s more than ready to be asleep. “Just turn it off before you pass out. I don’t want to dream about The Bachelor.”

 

 

 

It’s probably worth mentioning that there was a period while they were on tour a couple years ago where Minghao and Junhui were hooking up. No one knew, though the others probably had their suspicions. 

Who started blowing who in the shower first doesn’t really matter so much as who put an end to it, and that was Minghao. 

“Nah,” he said, when Junhui reached for his belt as soon as the door clicked shut, auto-locking behind them. “We shouldn’t, right? We probably shouldn’t have even started.”

Being so casual about it was Minghao’s way of trying to be nice. That’s how he’d want Junhui to say it to him, if he was going to. He wouldn’t want to be given some long speech and then be expected to respond. He wouldn’t want to be told, _Don’t worry, you give great head, it’s not that_ , or, _We’re in the same band, you know this can’t last_.

The moment it was out of his mouth he wished he’d found another way to say it. Minghao and Junhui weren’t the same person. That was probably why Minghao seemed to fall back toward him every time, like a magnet drawn to its opposing charge.

Junhui froze for a few moments then took his hands off Minghao’s pants. “All right,” he said, and that was it.

 

 

 

Minghao wakes up in the morning to a head like a freight train. “Christ,” he says, fumbling for his phone on the bedside table. It’s almost 2pm. He’s so glad he wasn’t scheduled for shooting today.

“Why did you let us do that?” Junhui groans from under a pillow. “Never listen to any of my ideas ever again.”

By dusk they’re both showered and alive enough to make it out the door for food. They find a table in the back of a place that isn’t too busy. After they order Junhui pours them both water, drinks half of his, puts it aside, and waits.

Minghao sighs. “I suppose we should talk or something.”

Junhui nods, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “I suppose we should.”

Where should he even start? Everywhere Minghao thinks about starting from is linked to something else, and then that’s linked to three more things, and it’s all just this one infinite, looping mess that they’ve been putting together since they were teenagers. 

“I should’ve explained properly, back then,” Minghao begins, frowning at the condensation on his water. “Why we had to stop doing all that stuff. You deserved a proper explanation.”

Junhui nods slowly. “I did, but I think I mostly understood anyway. For the group, right? Shit like that always detonates sooner or later unless you cut the fuse.”

“Yeah,” Minghao says, surprised. “That was exactly it.”

“I shouldn’t have kissed you last night, that was my bad.” Junhui frowns. It’s not often that he’s this solemn. Minghao doesn’t like it. “I guess I just missed you. The dorms are… different, with everyone gone. I think if you were there, I would mind a little less.”

The thing is, Junhui’s right. Sometimes he really is busy, but Minghao has been distancing himself these past few months. “I guess I’m just trying not to think about it,” Minghao says, leaning his head against the wall, running his finger over the corner of the table so he won’t have to look at Junhui. “The less I talk to you guys, the easier it is to pretend there are twelve people back at the dorm. Which is selfish as fuck, I know.”

Junhui looks at him for a long time, more thoughtful than solemn now. “Hey,” he says, “you know they’re coming back, right? They left in what, July? It’s already November. If you round up that’s like, a quarter of the time until they come back that’s already passed.”

Minghao exhales through his teeth and asks the question he knows none of them ever wanted to say out loud. “Until they come back to what?” 

This, Minghao knows, is his real problem. By the time they’re all back, Seventeen will have debuted ten years ago. He’s seen this play out with senior groups a dozen times before. They’ll get at least one reunion comeback, and then what? Even groups from the big companies, groups who sold out arena tours in their younger days, sometimes choose to disband quietly at some point after the ten-year mark. Minghao is not ready to make that choice. He doesn’t think he ever will be.

Junhui doesn’t look surprised. In fact, he looks almost like he expected Minghao’s exact question. “Do you remember,” he says, “those few months before we debuted? It felt like we were all losing our minds, pretending like a bunch of sweaty kids spending sixteen hours a day in the practice room could ever amount to anything.” Junhui’s face doesn’t change but something ignites in his dark eyes. It might be pride. “But we did. I can’t promise another eight years, but this is not just your problem. We’ll work something out, just like we did back then. And the last thing you should be doing is pulling away from the only other people in world who get it.”

Very slowly, because the last thing he wants to do is misstep here, Minghao asks, “Is that what we are? The only two people in the world who get it?”

That question seems to have surprised Junhui. Their conversation isn’t just about enlistments and sales and the future of their group anymore. “I don’t know,” he says after thinking for a moment, the dim lights of the restaurant sifting through his dark hair. “Does it matter? Isn’t what you actually feel more important than why you feel it?”

Minghao laughs. “I don’t know what I feel. That might be my problem.”

“That’s definitely your problem,” Junhui grins. Minghao wants to kick him. “You act like you can find the answer to anything if you just think it over long and hard enough. People don’t work like that, though. People feel things they can’t always explain.”

“And that’s why people get hurt,” says Minghao. “If I can understand something, I can control it. Nothing hurts as much if I see it coming.”

“Ah,” Junhui says, leaning back in his chair like he’s just solved a difficult crossword, “and you didn’t see this one coming, did you? That’s why you can’t just accept it. You feel like they betrayed us.”

“I didn’t say that,” Minghao says, defensive.

“But it’s true. You know they didn’t want to go, but you still can’t help feeling left behind.”

Minghao closes his eyes. “Stop. You’re making me sound like a terrible person.”

“No,” Junhui says, “I’m making you sound like a person. A person who is feeling things he can’t explain. That’s what we do. Welcome to the club.”

“Thanks,” Minghao says, opening his eyes. “It’s terrible. What do we do to make it less terrible?”

“Sleep with our friends, usually,” Junhui says, making Minghao laugh so loud in surprise that the people at the table closest to them turn to look.

“You’re right,” he says, “that does make it less terrible.”

Junhui tilts his head, like a curious bird at a windowsill. “But we’re not gonna be those kinds of friends anymore, are we?”

Minghao thinks about it, just to be sure, but he already knows Junhui is right. If he’s really honest, this might’ve been the reason that Minghao really stopped Junhui those years ago, one that he didn’t even dare admit to himself. It was the same reason he felt relief before anything else when Junhui turned up at his door two days ago. Messing around in their hotel room after shows was something he’d liked, but he _needed_ Junhui in all the other ways. As two guys in their twenties who’d never known what it was like to live a normal life, that thought seemed monumental and terrifying; that even when there was no more Seventeen, Minghao would probably still need Junhui.

“No,” Minghao says, “it won’t be like that anymore.” Junhui doesn’t look surprised. He looks the way he always does. Peaceful with an understated, quiet kind of strength, like a spring hidden deep in the forest that only the animals know about. “Is that what you want?”

“I just want the distance to go away,” Junhui says, folding his hands on the table. “I don’t mean the one between Seoul and Hong Kong, I mean the one you’ve been putting there. I care about that way more than where your dick goes. No offense.”

Minghao laughs. He sees the waiter come out of the kitchen and head for their table, plates of food in his hands. “No more distance,” he agrees, clearing his phone and cup out of the way to make space on the table. “After all, it’s like you said: they’re coming back.”

 

 

 

Three days later Junhui finishes his campaign job and is booked on the first flight of the day back to Seoul.

Minghao feels the bed tilt when he gets up, hears the shower run and the rhythmic sound of teeth-brushing. 

Some time later, Junhui leans over him smelling of toothpaste and whispers, “Minghao.”

He rolls over and squints. Junhui hasn’t turned on any lights and it’s still dark outside. He’s just an outline, one that Minghao could probably recognise anywhere.

“Don’t get up,” he murmurs. “I’ve gotta go catch my flight.”

“‘Kay,” Minghao mutters. “See you in Seoul.”

Minghao doesn’t have to look to know that Junhui is grinning. “Yeah,” he whispers, “see you.”

His suitcase clacks over the threshold of the room, the door eases shut, and Minghao is alone.

In an hour the sun will rise over Hong Kong. In Seoul, it’s already up. If Minghao were the type to poeticise, maybe that’d mean something. Really though, all it means is that soon Minghao will get up and go to work, and he’ll do the same thing tomorrow and the day after that. It’s November and there’s a whole world out there. He’s nowhere near done yet.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading ♥
> 
>  
> 
> This fic was written for K-Pop Olymfics 2019 as part of Team Canon/AR/Future 2. Olymfics is a challenge in which participants write fics based on prompt sets and compete against other teams of writers, organized by genre. Competition winners are chosen by the readers, so please rate this fic using [this survey](https://forms.gle/Jb8PcN8Dg97oz1kYA)!


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